Spotlight on "Dancing Barefoot"

God, he knew how to piss her
off.He couldn’t simply keep the small
talk light.He had to go in for the
kill.

“Congratulations on your career, Jacques.Must be thrilling.” She ripped off a piece of
her sandwich and shoved it into her mouth without looking away from his
eyes.

“Exciting as hell.”

“Traveling the world, a new woman
with a flick of your finger.Must me
damn exhilarating.”She turned her back
on him to pour herself a glass of water.No more alcohol.Not for a few
days minimum.

“The women are the best part.I can’t keep them out of my bed.”

“Must get tiring, all that sex and
travel.”

He said nothing.When she turned, he had walked from the
kitchen and stood staring up the stairs toward the music.The expression on his face was more curious
than angry.

She thought of the drawing above the
sofa and knew she didn't want him to see it. He'd called her pitiful before,
accused her of not growing up. If he saw the easel, the paintings, the wine
bottle...he'd know how screwed up she'd become. Those were things he simply
didn't need to know.

“Do you remember the first meal I
made you?” she asked to divert his attention away from the upstairs.

He grinned without looking at her.“A pastrami sandwich on fresh baked bread
from the market down the street.”

“We had every window open to get some air
because it was so damn hot our clothes were sticking to our skin.”

“So we took them off.” He moved up
the stairs, his gaze locked on something above.

“We drank an entire bottle of wine.” Her
breath caught in her throat as she followed, sandwiches in hand.

“We had gelato for dessert.” Thumbs
in the loops of his jeans, he stood at the top of the stairs. “If I remember right, that gelato cooled us
off in creative and erotic ways.”

She studied the way the material of
his shirt stretched across his back.“Must be why I crave Italian from time to time.”

Energy snapped off him as he moved toward
the tattered sofa and muttered beneath his breath.

“Still muttering and pacing,” she
whispered.“I swore that when I saw you
again I’d be cool and sophisticated, that I’d have all the right words.”

“You planned on seeing me
again?”He stared at the painting hanging
on the wall, his body rigid.

“Hoped.” She dragged her gaze to his
face.“Can’t you forgive me?”

“Is that what you want from me?
Forgiveness?”He frowned again, his eyes
full of confusion when he met her gaze.

“More than anything,” she whispered.

“How come you never looked back?Not once did you look back.”He closed the space between them with two
slow steps.“Like I meant nothing.When I got home, you had disappeared.Vanished.You didn’t even say good-bye. Now there's all of this...a painting of
our place here, pictures of Florence in your living room, you're wearing my
ring...but you never looked back, you never contacted me."

“I had responsibilities, no choices.”
Regret rolled through her.

“You had a choice.”

“No, I didn’t.” All of the reasons
that had seemed important felt insignificant now. “I can’t explain.”

He stalked toward her until her back
collided with her easel. His hands gripped the top of the canvas, arms pinned
her where she stood.“I haven’t wanted
to remember you in a very long time.”

“I suppose not.”

“But I have.”

“Me, too.”

“Are you happy?”

“What do you mean?” She folded her
arms across her chest.

“Did you make the right choice? Leaving
me?Leaving our life together? Tell me
you’re happy and I’ll walk out of your life forever.”

“What does it matter?I can’t undo it.”

“Why is it a difficult question for
you to answer? Why can’t you tell me that you have no regrets?I want to hear it.”

“Of course I have regrets, but so
what?What good does that do us?”

“That’s why I came here tonight, to
see…”

“See what? I’ve done what I said I
would do.”Pride forced her head
high.“I’m up for associate partner at my
firm.I’m a good—no,
great—architect.We both succeeded
without each other.Good for us.”

“You’re lying.You’re not happy.”His hand framed the side of her face, forcing
her to look at him. “I see it in your face. It’s like you’ve died. You're living
in the past, which tells me you're not that thrilled with the present.”

“When did you get so mean?”Too tired to fight, tears blurred her
eyes.“Get out.Enough insults for one night.Just go.”

“Why are you still wearing my
ring?”His voice was low and powerful in
the small room.

“Why do you?”

“My ring.”Dark blond hair covered his left eye when he
bent forward, only a breath away from her face.“Why are you wearing it?Does it mean
anything to you or do you simply think it’s pretty?”

“Please go.”She flattened her hands against his chest,
but wished she hadn’t.The feel of his
hard body beneath her hands liquefied her bones.

He slammed his hand against the canvas,
knocking it to the floor behind her.“You just left.One day we’re
living together, talking about creating a future, and then you walked away
without ever looking back.”

“I look back in my own way.Often, too often, I need to grow up like you
said.” Her lungs deflated like air from a balloon.Breathing ceased.“I needed to come back here, to—”

“To be safe?To do the right thing?”He had her backed against the easel. “I
thought you would at least stay in touch with me, the man you supposedly loved,
the man you said you wanted to marry, the man you said you needed…but you
disappeared.”

“You had my address. I didn’t
disappear.”

“You let me go without a word.Until today, I hadn’t heard from you in years,
yet here you are wearing my ring.”

“I said I was sorry.” Every inch of
her quaked with restrained emotion.“Leave now.Go. Good luck with your exhibit, the workshop,
with your life, all of it.Just get the
hell out of my house.”

“Doesn’t that show me how much you
really do care?” She lifted her chin,
determined not to cry.

A fraction of an inch separated their
bodies.She dragged her gaze over the
opened buttons of his shirt, over his neck, over his lips until resting on the
deep green of his eyes.Damn, the man
rocked the word 'sexy'.

Boldness replaced caution.

Standing on tiptoes, she smoothed her
hands along the front of his chest.Touching him again was like coming home from a long, exhausting journey.

He shook his head once as if trying
to clear his mind.Only once.He stared at her lips.His hands curled around her forearms, but he
didn’t push her away.

“Kiss me,” she whispered against his
mouth.

“No.” His hands slid
up her arms before cupping the back of her head.

"I dare you."

"Never."

"I know you want to."

"I don't."

"Now who's the liar?" she
asked, her teeth tugging at his lower lip.

Their mouths met in a kiss that
melted her skin like candle wax, turning them into one being, one entity
consumed by desire. To hell with restraint and regret.She needed this, needed him, here and now.

Passion overrode all other thought or
senses.Her hands stroked his back,
kneading and searching. Every sense was alive with his touch, with his kiss.
The need for him was an ache that burned deep. Hot. Necessary. Urgent. Primal.

God, she had missed this, missed him.

He ripped her tank top in two and
tossed the material aside.His hands squeezed
her breasts while his mouth devoured her lips.

She yanked his shirt free from his
jeans and shoved it high on his chest, needing his skin against hers more than
she'd ever needed anything in life.Clothes fell away, bread crushed beneath their bodies, wine spilled from
an overturned bottle at their feet.

They fell against the easel, knocking the canvas and paint in every
direction. A tangle of limbs, they made eye contact for a moment, chests
heaving, breathing labored.

"This is wrong," he
muttered against her skin.

"Right. Always right with
us." She sank her fingernails into his shoulders.

"What the lady wants, the lady
gets," he said, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

His hands worked at pushing her yoga
pants over her hips while his mouth claimed her breast.

She looped her toes in the waistband
of his underwear and yanked them over his thighs.Her hands sought his erection while her back
arched with every stroke of his hands and every lick of his tongue.

He ground himself inside her with the
intensity of repressed rage. Her legs wrapped around his hips, holding him as
close as possible as he plunged deep inside her.

Sex had never been tame with him, but
this was animalistic.This was raw.Teeth sank into skin. Nails scraped against
each other's bodies. They rolled together, locked as one being.Streaks of yellow and red paint lined their
faces, stuck in their hair, no one cared.

Waves of pleasure rolled through her
veins like a tsunami until all strength left her body. She laughed, breathless,
as her mouth sought his again in a kiss filled with satisfaction and surprise.

"Is this what you meant by a do-over?"
He shoved his hands through her hair, palms framing her face, and stared into
her eyes. His chest rose and fell
against hers.

"Not exactly but it'll do,"
she whispered, still out of breath, heartbeat slamming like a caged bird's
wings inside her chest.

His mouth sucked on her lower lip,
tongue teased hers."I don't know
what to do with you, Jessica Moriarty."

"You've always known exactly
what to do with me, Jacques Sinclair." She repeated the words they'd
always said to one another. She dipped her finger into the wet yellow paint on
the canvas beneath his head before smearing it across his chin and over his
mouth.

He grabbed her hand, linked his
fingers with hers and stared into her eyes. Laughter faded.

“This shouldn't have happened. I lost
control, I always lose control around you.” He rolled away and stared at the
ceiling.Then he stood and pulled a
piece of cheese from where it had stuck to his shoulder.Without looking at her, he dressed.

Rattled from the sex and his
reaction, she stumbled to standing.Without looking at him, she grabbed the blanket from the sofa and
wrapped it around herself.Man, she was
on a roll today with fucking up her life.

He walked down the stairs without
saying a word.

She returned to the kitchen to find
him still waiting.She had hoped he'd gone.

Back against the wall, he finished
buttoning his shirt.He hadn't bothered
to wipe the streaks of paint from his face and hair; then again, neither had
she.When he lifted his gaze to hers, he
looked agonized.

"I didn't intend on that.I should go," he said.

“Stay. Don't go. Maybe we should talk
or something.”

She wanted to scream, stomp her foot
like a child, fall to her knees …anything to make him stay.

“There is someone else, Jess. Life
moved on without you.” His quiet words sliced her heart into a million
pieces.“I came here for answers, to
understand.I didn't intend to rip your
clothes off.I only wanted to understand
why you left me. That’s all.”

“And now you understand?”

“No.”He shook his head, a slight grin curving his lips.“But I accept that I will never understand.”

She rubbed the palm of her hand over
her face.Of course he had someone else.
She had discarded him like a used napkin.

“You're serious with this woman?What you said about the different women all
the time was just to hurt me, right?”

“Yes to both questions.”

A chasm ripped through the room,
creating a space larger than the ocean that had once separated them.She felt the loss of him again, more
powerful, more poignant than before.

“I wish it wasn’t like this between
us…”

“I’m still the same man you left in
Italy.The reasons you left haven’t
changed.I’m a gypsy at heart, never in
one place longer than six months or so.What did you call me?A
wanderer?”He looked at the matching
ring on his finger and blew out a long breath.

“Please leave.Your girlfriend must be wondering what the
hell you’re doing.”She hugged her arms
across her chest and tapped her foot against the floor. “Please leave, Jacques.”

“Am I wrong?Are you happy?Tell me I’m wrong about you.Tell me that you love being an
architect.Tell me that you honestly
don’t regret leaving me.”With every
word, his face mirrored the agony she felt.“Tell me that you have no regrets, that you are happy with your life as
it is now.”

“My life is damn near perfect.” She
forced a smile.“Partnership is in
sight, remember?Corner office here I
come. I have everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s a fucking love fest.”

“It is time I let this go then.” With a quick
movement, he pulled the ring from his finger and laid it on the back of the red
chair

She stared at the ring against the
faded fabric.“Please don’t leave
it.Like you said, it’s yours.”

“Keep it, throw it away, it no longer
matters to me. Be well, bella.” Door
open, he hesitated at the threshold and looked around the room before meeting
her gaze again.

Bella.The word hung in the air as they stared at
one another, the language of Italy dancing in her memory and tugging at her
heart.

“Caro…”
she whispered.

Without another look back, he closed
the door behind him.

She listened to the fall of his
footsteps on the stairs, the outside door opening and closing, and folded his
ring into her palm. She pressed the closed fist against lips still swollen from
his kiss. Silent tears streaked her face.

"What have I done?" Back
against the door, she slid to the floor. The question she asked had no answer.
Even she didn't know if she meant the past or the present; conflicting emotions
meshed together in her brain like the various paint streaks staining her skin.

Naked photographs plastered on a book cover remind Jessica
Moriarty that the past isn't as dead as she'd assumed. Her carefully
constructed life as an architect on the fast track to partnership is threatened
by a love she'd abandoned five years ago when responsibilities had trumped
dreams.

World-renowned photographer, Jacques Sinclair, could have
chosen anywhere in the world for his book signing and photography exhibit, but
he'd come to Boston to shake things up. He wanted answers, but they aren't what
he expected.

Reunions aren't always happy—sometimes they stir up unwanted
pain and forgotten passion. As Jacques and Jessica stumble their way back to
one another for a second chance at love, they're ensnared in a web of
conspiracy, manipulation, and sabotage designed to keep them apart. Will they
be able to break free of the ties that bind them to seize the love of a
lifetime? Or will the pressure to conform rip them apart forever?

**This is the conclusion of the two part Dancing Barefoot
series. It can be read as a stand-alone, however, to get the full impact of the
love story, the author recommends reading book one, In Between.**

It
was refreshingly honest, brutally tragic, and at times lyrical in it's flow.
Their connection was so intense that as I read it, I was like this absolutely
cannot survive. Love this intense and in your face has a slow burn to it, and
will torch everything in i's path until it is stamped out...There was nothing
contrived about it. I felt like I was literally a fly on the wall and this was
happening in reality and not fiction land. I liked them both, probably one of
the best couples I have ever read."...read entire review http://goo.gl/R191Sa

5
stars via ChristophFischerBooks

"Conflicting
emotions and insurmountable chemistry cause both of them to reassess the past,
their current lives and priorities. Easton shows the magnetic and hypnotic
effect of physical and emotional attraction very well and the gradual crumbling
of outer facades and deep inner resolve. This is a romantic fantasy written in
a convincing and heart warming manner and with enough complications thrown in
to make for a very entertaining and gripping read."...read entire review http://goo.gl/R191Sa

To anonymous--YES, the title is in reference to the song, Dancing Barefoot! The lyrics truly reflected this story. I listened to a lot of U2 while writing this novel and they remade the Patti Smith Song, Dancing Barefoot. I LOVE that someone got that reference! You have no idea how big I'm smiling right now. You all are so smart. Here are the lyrics for anyone who doesn't know:

She is benedictionShe is addicted to heShe is the root connection andShe is connecting with me

Here I go and I don't know whyI spin so ceaselesslyCould it be he's taking over me

I'm dancing barefootHeaded for a spinSome strange music drags me inIt makes me come up like some heroine

She is sublimationShe is the essence of theeShe is concentrating onHe who is chosen by she

Here I go when I don't know whyI spin so ceaselesslyCould it be he's taking over me

I'm dancing barefootHeaded for a spinSome strange strange music drags me inIt makes me come up like some heroine

She is recreationShe intoxicated by theeShe has the slow sensation thatHe is levitating with she

Here I go when I don't know whyI spin so ceaselessly'Til I lose my sense of gravity

I'm dancing barefootHeading for a spinSome strange music drives me onMakes me come up like some heroine

O God I feel for youO God I feel for youO God I feel for youO God I feel for you

Hi, AmberBoth Riptide and Kiss Me Slowly were already on my TBR list, and I can't believe I haven't read them yet. Hope to make it before Dancing Barefoot release ;-)Thanks for the awesome hope!Renataalifeamongbooks [at] gmail [dot] com

Books by Amber Lea Easton

Coffee Time Romance says, "Most authors only aspire to the level of mastery that Easton achieves. Plots are unique, characters are multi-dimensional, and the experience is just that--an experience. Her books break the mold." What are you waiting for? Be swept away with romance, suspense, and adventure today! http://www.amberleaeaston.com

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Amber Lea Easton

Amber Lea Easton is a multi-published cross genre author of romantic suspense, action adventure, mystery thrillers, and nonfiction. Her stories cross all boundaries and appeal to a wide audience. If you love a clever plot, action that will leave you breathless, riveting characters and sexy love scenes, her books will appeal to you. "Smart is sexy," Easton says, which is why she focuses on smart heroines who always have a lot to lose yet find the courage to face their fears to overcome adversity. She's an avid reader of all genres or "whatever turns her on in the moment". Easton grew up in Hartford, South Dakota, where she spent her time daydreaming of big adventures over the horizon under a giant blue South Dakota sky. Now living in Colorado, she's an avid traveler who incorporates her real life travels into her novels as much as possible (minus the illegal activities her characters become immersed in--she swears). To her, setting is another character in the novel and often serves as an inspiration. Love is her motivation for all things--whether it be writing, traveling, playing with her dogs or hanging with her two teenagers--if it's not done with love, then what's the point?

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